


A Word He Hadn't Needed

by excessiveling



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Implied/Referenced Sex, Mouth Kink, Other, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Teeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:16:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7739599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excessiveling/pseuds/excessiveling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes I just want to write about teeth and also love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Word He Hadn't Needed

 

Karkat lets the door fall shut behind him, rocking forward on heavy steps into the hive foyer. Either the days were getting harder, or he was getting old, as their budding society grew increasingly complex and demanding around him.

 

Weary and drained, he had a singular mind, almost enough to forget kicking off his shoes in the entryway. But the couch awaits, and sure enough, he finds Gamzee there reclining with a book.

 

"Hey," he says, before even turning the corner. He barely looks at them as he sinks into the space at their side, raising his elbows up onto the couch back, tilting his head back for a breath. He feels heavy, expanding out into space and all too affected by gravity. He used to be small, practically fucking dainty for a troll his age, roundness and all. The roundness stayed, sure, but now he was bordering massive. It was especially obvious any time he saw the humans; their growth was not hardly as indeterminate, and the majority of them stayed put well under his six feet while the trolls quickly outpaced them.

 

Gamzee was, as usual, an exception. They met eye to eye now, at 10 sweeps of age, and if he got close enough he could even look down. Boy had _that_ been a realization. They appeared done growing, at least for a while, but their gently curling horns had reached up another quarter foot in the last sweep alone, he's sure of it. They've kept their signature lank and willow, and he watches them draped over the geometry of the couch like they're made of rope, not bone.

 

They know he's tired. They're tired too, from the look of it, but not too much that they don't eventually lift up out of the grog and move to settle him with a sleepy focus, rising from the couch to come lay up against his side. He braces their shoulder with a broad, hot palm, and purrs in satisfaction at the feeling of them held close. It'll never not feel like a victory, after everything.

 

Not even his exhaustion can dim his demanding pale appetite. He lowers his purr to a transparent growl, bumping foreheads and exhaling deeply. Gamzee nuzzles back in acknowledgment, reaching up to rub a shoulder, clicking in encouragement.

 

_I just want this, for like, an hour. No, the rest of the damn night. Nothing else._

 

He doesn't have to say it out loud. He just turns to angle his chest to them and wraps both arms about their middle, tucking his face down into their hair to blot out everything else. He growls so low and gentle and long it's almost a whine, and they shoosh him, tracing claws around his back and vibrating in his grip with purrs. _I could fucking cry. Why am I like this?_

 

After all this damn time, it was still enough to terrify him. How much he wanted to never, ever let go. How unfair it was to want that.

 

Gamzee just soothes, and hushes, moving to straddle just to get close enough, and makes it all go away. Claws smooth through his hair and rub briefly at his horns, lips wander around his forehead, and occasionally he gets a glimpse of deep, soft purple eyes. He puts his hand to their back, flat, and pushes them close. _Closer._

 

There is no closer. Not unless he gets inside of them, and right now, there isn't enough pale in the whole world where he wouldn't feel disgusted with himself for it. _Maybe you like feeling disgusted with yourself, that's your problem._ God, maybe it's true. He can imagine it already with how they're purring and moving on him, how good-bad-right it would feel...

 

Imagining is enough, and Gamzee doesn't initiate anything more than a kiss. Kisses are good. He's abandoned any tangible guilt about kissing them deep and slow, thorough, bracing their head close to his own. It's still more than he should want, but Gamzee needs, too-- needs to feel something pressing in hot, selfish, needy, forceful, like putting pressure on a bleeding wound. He shivers low in his belly and kisses harder, even letting his tongue graze deliberately along their teeth.

 

He stops after a while, pulling back. He's never really thought about their teeth. He catches his breath while he takes their chin carefully in a thumb and forefinger; they somehow seem to get the idea. They keep their mouth as open as he guides it to be, which is just enough to catch a little flash of the stunted tusks rising from each canine.

 

Beatpump still thumping from making out with them, he carefully braces their neck, pets their face once, and displaces their lower lip with his thumb until he can see the full, thick little fang jutting up from the firm purple gums. Its taper makes it nearly teardrop-shaped; for tearing, not piercing. He reaches in to trace its tip along the pad of this thumb, slow, methodical. Spit gathers on this thumb, but not enough he can't simply wipe it down against their chin or cheek.

 

They let him do it, and he's not sure why. He drags his thumb along the four bottom incisors, wanders slowly back just short of touching the first premolar. He can see them there in the back, surprisingly small compared to the upper and lower tusks in the front. The shape of their jaw itself was complex, teeth fitting neatly together like a puzzle despite the slight chaos of their angles and placement. Ragged, but perfect. Oddly compact, almost artistic.

 

He stays there, oddly fixated on their teeth and how passive they are towards his gentle exploring, prodding their mouth like they're some sort of... agricultural asset, which is entirely and deeply wrong, and definitely something he can be upset about later. But for now, this is their moirail; one part of their moirail, flesh and blood and real, and alive, despite everything. With strong, sturdy teeth, despite everything. He inexplicably purrs, satisfied so much by seeing them full of bone, full of bite. _Nothing will get you again. Your mouth is all yours, now._

 

Rose would surely have something to say about his fucked up fascination with their mouth, how kissing is so good, how this is so good, how it's the best thing he's ever put his bulge in no matter how much he feels like he shouldn't. Thinking about that is too much. He leans in for a kiss beside his fingers, pressing lips against the tusks, unknowing of what he's trying to say. _I love you. I love you so much._

 

Gamzee leans back to rest their jaw, and he lets them go; he's satisfied, anyway, and there's a long, graceful throat to nuzzle and think about the veins full of purple just under the skin, the windchute ghosting air down into their lungs, their curving ribs, their spine arced up to place their belly against his own. How their hips splay each leg over his lap, how their body holds together. Flesh and blood. To be so in love with them as to be in love with each individual molecule felt _crazy_ , felt _stupid_ , felt almost _rude_. But it was all he could do. It was all he wanted, right now.

 

And when Gamzee moves back up onto their knees, getting the height to kiss him again, they're more than a body in his arms. They're like something else, something holy, a word he hadn't needed until the moment he looked up and saw their eyes looking back down at him.

 


End file.
